Page 22 of King Of Order

I’d fuckin’ waited, observed, and planned for the most effective moment to cut him and his lineage to their knees.

I’ve spent years planning my revenge to dismantle the Tirone world from the inside.

Olivio’s failing health had made way for his sons to take over the business.

However, they were unqualified, greedy bastards who’d burnt through the Tirones cash reserves like wildfire.

Soon, they were forced to take out absurd loans to maintain their syndicate.

Which they were now struggling to repay.

With Olivio ailing and his people weak, the stage was set, and the time was favorable.

To destroy the Tirones in one final explosive inferno.

I availed myself of all the resources at my fingertips to do so.

The Ciprioni Group wasn’t your run-of-the-mill security firm.

Operating under the umbrella of the Calibrese family empire, we operated in the shadows, ensuring the wealthy and powerful slept at night without worrying about what lurked in the darkness.

We did very well by protecting the elite from the mafia, rival business interests, and anyone who dared cross a line they shouldn’t have.

At the heart of it all was discretion.

Few were acquainted with our name outside certain circles, and that was by design.

Our clients paid for protection, not publicity, and we offered a level of service no other company matched.

The Ciprioni Group was renowned for being ruthless ghosts who materialized when needed and disappeared as fast when the assignment was done. We never left a trace.

Our operations were global, and we used high-tech monitoring systems, encrypted communications, and strategic partnerships in major cities worldwide.

We had a team of experts, ex-special forces, intelligence operatives, and cyber geniuses who worked together like a well-oiled machine.

Every threat was assessed, each move calculated, and every job carried out with precision. Our motto wasn’t written on any letterhead, but we lived by it: Protect, Defend, Eliminate.

Most clients came from old money, corporate dynasties, or political families.

These people weren’t only rich—they were targets.

The kind of people who pissed off the wrong groups or found themselves in the middle of some mafia power struggle. They came to us when the police were unable to help when they needed more than a bodyguard. We weren’t afraid to get our hands dirty, to do what others wouldn’t. That’s why we were expensive. But if you afforded our fee, we kept you safe. Period.

We were the last line of defense, a lifeline for people with too much to lose. And we made sure they didn’t.

My people had a way of sending messages that were subtle but effective.

We weren’t in the business of starting wars, but we ended them with swift, brutal precision if necessary. More often than not, the mere whisper of our involvement was sufficient to make any would-be attackers back off.

No one wanted a showdown with us.

And when the mafia didn’t take the hint? Well, that’s where I came in.

The wealthy clients loved having an ally like me at the helm—someone unafraid to take vital steps to ensure their safety, no matter the cost.

They trusted me because I’d never let one of them fall.

I wasn’t above knocking on doors or making threats face-to-face.

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